


New

by Tentabot



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: M/M, Multiple Relationships, Past Relationship(s), Smut, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-06-10 05:51:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6942382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tentabot/pseuds/Tentabot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael falls hard and fast but it’s such a fleeting thing for him. He’ll let himself slip, only a little, sink himself into the fantasy of being loved like he loves: selfishly and without hesitation.</p><p> </p><p>  <span class="small"></span><br/><i>Michael-centric multiship with Geoff/Michael endgame.</i><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So I fall in Love

**Author's Note:**

> Before you get to searching for your ship, it's one ship, one chapter. There's 6 fic chapters, one for each pair and then an epilogue. You can view for just your particular ship, or for the fic, I don't mind. But before there is any confusion there is just that warning. Thanks.
> 
> Also, [the song this is based on.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bPJSsAr2iu0)

**_A Comfortable Love_ **

* * *

 

_Don't take this the wrong way,_

_You knew who I was with every step that I ran to you_

* * *

 

Like thoughts and a racing pulse, atmospheres are things that constantly move. Slow or fast, the pace passes to the steady beat of hearts and quickens to the hype of its surroundings.

 

Things are far too slow right now, Michael thinks, and he displays his disappointment with a small frown on his face that deepens when he takes a sip at his warm beer.

 

He had been there for hours now, passed his workmates leaving for the night. He watched them hobble off with arms around each other to share a taxi to their respective homes. He should have joined them. He doesn’t know why he stayed.

 

Except, really, he does. He wishes on stale drinks and a flush in his cheeks that he could make a pass at someone, anyone. His heart aches for some fulfilment, and he knows it’s not actually his prick because he feels that hot spike of jealousy dig into his ribs that makes him drink again to quell the burning heat.

 

“‘nother one?”

 

“Yeah, why the fuck not. One for the road.”

 

The more drinks he has, the further his thoughts delve toward self-satisfactory wants. Primal. He sees couples leaning on each other and share coy looks. Hands travel under booth tables. He stirs and looks at the label of his drink.

 

He thinks that he has had enough to drink and not enough at the same time, scrubbing a hand over his face and letting his cheek smush on his fist. He looks frustrated, and rightfully so. He thinks that he can’t possibly not be a catch to some asshole with working eyes.

 

The annoyance makes him bite his tongue and he hisses, drinking the pain away. In his tongue or in his chest, he doesn’t know.

 

“Gimme anoth’r.”

 

“Y’sure, guy? Thought the last one was-.”

 

“Yeah, I know, and don’t give a rat’s _fuckin’_ ass,” he huffs, “Just do someone a solid. This’ll be my last.”

 

“...Right.”

 

He gets his beer, doesn’t see the red of his eyes but can feel the red in his cheeks.

 

“S’Michael, by the way. Not ‘Guy’,” he mutters, glancing up at the bartender.

 

“Okay, Mike.”

 

“ _Michael_.”

 

“I’ll use your full name when I have to call a friend to pick you up.”

 

Michael finds himself look properly at the man who smiles as if reassuring him that the statement is a joke. He looks quickly back down at the thin neck of his drink. He bites his lip and scrunches his nose.

 

He looks like he wants to break it.

 

He wants to break it to distract him from everything else.

 

Instead, he drinks.

 

It’s not his last.

  
~  


He comes back to the same sleaze joint, sits at the same stool, orders the same drink. Only one work colleague stays behind long enough to share a couple more rounds with Michael. And it makes his heart stutter.

 

He thinks he wants to throttle his heart when his colleague smiles and they share laughs. He lets himself be embarrassed by the story trade they have about work things and their respective personal lives.

 

He loses himself to imagery of her smiles on his lips, her tongue counting the freckles on his neck, her laugh ringing through his ears as they share a bed post-coital.

 

She leaves with a phone call from her girlfriend and kisses his cheek goodbye as she gets him another beer as a parting gift and thanks him for the fun night. He waves at her back and slumps back into his stool.

 

It still smells like her on his jacket and he groans as he downs more meaningless sorrows. They taste bitter. Suits his bitterness.

 

Through the brown glass of his bottle he catches the shape of the bartender again and his heart flutters for a different someone.

 

His nose scrunches up and he swallows too much, coughs the rest out, and stains himself with the scent of cheap beer. He heaves breaths on the bar top, left cheek greeting cold wood.

 

He’s swaddled in a warmth when napkins meet his tired face, a graceful fall onto his nose. It makes him scrunch it up again just to get it out of his eyes.

 

“Rule one of drinking is don’t drown, don’t you know?”

 

He moves more away from the napkins to look up at the bartender. He’s not grumpy with him and that makes Michael swoon just a little more because instead there’s a kindly face looking amused.

 

“Another one, please.”

 

The bartender inclines his head and washes his hands off of the beer he had to wipe up. Michael notices it, the largeness of the man’s palms and the soft hair that thickens from wrist to elbow.

 

Michael leans on his hand, thinks awhile about how he would approach the man.

 

‘Would’.

 

Not ‘will’.

 

During the blankness of his thoughts, his beer is in front of him with napkins and a coaster under it. Michael looks up at the bartender who glances over with a polite smile before grabbing more drinks for the other patrons.

 

He looks back down at the napkins.

 

He picks one up and wipes the remaining wetness of beer from his neck and chin.

 

He smiles into his long swigs.

  
~  


“Usual.”

 

“Comin’ right up.”

 

That’s been the same exchange for three more days and during that time Michael finds himself falling away and toward Jack the Bartender.

 

It almost infuriates him.

 

Not just how he can’t simply flirt with the man, but also how he is getting flirted with. How his thoughts, driven by five beers and some peanuts, turn to how he wants to feel the itch of the man’s beard over his chin and neck and maybe even his thighs.

 

He gets his share of physical imagery by inviting others to his bed for one night and nothing more over those same passed three days.

 

He knows he is purposefully bedding those who bear a similar resemblance.

 

He refuses to acknowledge it.

 

He watches a woman smirk at a man, crooking her fingers under his tie to pull him close to her. He thinks about being in her place, coy and confident, leading someone by their tie like it’s a leash. Plump lips trace strong jawlines and his eyes move down to the knots and dents in the wooden bar top.

 

A beer bottle is placed on one knot, directly above it, and Michael takes the bottle in one hand before tracing the knot with his other.

 

He notes the bench’s smoothness before his hand finds its way to his neck, then to tracing his collarbone. His fingers find themselves tangled in the string of his necklace and his holds it towards his lips, leaning on his hand as he props his elbows up.

 

He finishes his drink slowly, not savoring the taste but savoring the growing silence that accommodates the area with the passing time.

 

“One more.”

 

“That’s what they say.”

 

Michael snorts despite the truth being thrown at him. Because he knows it’s not his last.

 

Jack does too.

 

And there is another thing that frustrates him.

 

He looks towards another couple to distract himself.

 

Tracing his lips with the charm of the necklace, he thinks he’s cheating his heart and its love that just so happens to last a few days longer than most. But it’s not some sort of record. It’s just One Of Those. A variant to his love-hopping norm.

 

But three days is just too much for his level of exposure to every couple or triple or double date he sees. It makes him burn and he wants nothing more than the burn to go scald him another way.

 

He wants searing kisses cooled by the taste of shared alcohol. Gruff laughter and clumsy hands. Tenderness with every wet kiss and harsh bite. He wants a love again.

 

He forgets these thoughts with a few more drinks than four that he downs in two hours so he’s not entirely out of his own head. Just far away from it so he doesn’t hear its own buzzing. All he needs is the slight ring in his ears and the haze in his eyes.

  
~  


“Closing time.”

 

He’s nudged awake and he doesn’t even realize that for the passed few moments he was asleep. He yawns behind his hand, mouth close to feeling cotton-like, and finds that a bottle of beer is still next to him. It’s half empty and room temperature but he still finishes it before slamming it back down on the counter.

 

“Le’s go then,” he mumbles.

 

He’s tired and stumbles off of the bar stool, leaning heavily on every second piece of furniture before finding himself a booth and laying there. He faintly hears Jack cleaning up in the background.

 

He can hear Jack snort and turn up the soft playing music just a little louder, wiping the bar and clearing shot glasses and cocktails. He peeks from the collar of his jacket to watch the quiet shuffling of the large man, gaze soft as he sees smiles and lyrics pass the man’s lips.

 

Michael blanks again but this time he’s aware of it. His head is hidden in the crook of his arm and he breathes gently through his nose trying to slow his awakening pulse.

 

His head throbs like his heart but it’s okay because it’s not of emotional consequence.

 

His fingers dip under his shirt to scratch absentmindedly at his abdomen and then further up to his ribs. The air is cool to his exposed skin so he rubs at it to warm up before pulling his shirt down and sitting up from his lying position.

 

“C’mon, I gotta turn out the lights now,” Jack coaxes him to awareness with such a sweet voice. Michael whines to be left alone to his thoughts.

 

“Jus’ a’cubble’a minutes,” he slurs in return, and Jack laughs softly.

 

“Let’s go, Michael.” Jack gentle lifts Michael up and as large as he is, Michael’s grown ass still hangs out of the man’s arms.

 

Rather than help himself to a standing position, Michael curls up more, nosing the soft of Jack’s chest as if trying to keep warm and together. Jack huffs in exasperation and Michael can’t help but smile because it doesn’t sound as annoyed as Jack is trying to play to be.

 

“There’s no cabs around this late, or, I guess, early. You gotta get up now, Mike.”

 

“S’Michael, goddammit.” Michael snorts.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack returns, snickering to himself.

 

Michael isn’t paying too much attention, loving the attention received, but all too soon to his unaware mind he meets 4AM air and he hates it and curls closer to Jack.

 

“Go back inside,” he hisses through the biting cold. Jack shudders through it as well but seems far more sober and used to it than Michael will ever wish to be.

 

“I’d prefer a bed rather than a booth this morning,” Jack replies. Michael tries not to see an implication in that comment but fails and tries to stop shaking enough to let Jack carry him the eleven steps to the man’s car.

 

Michael curls up in the backseat and Jack gets a blanket from the back of the car for Michael to cozy up in. Michael blushes and tiredly smiles into the mink.

 

He passes out on purpose so he doesn’t have to share his address.

 

Then they’re at Jack’s and Michael is this time told he needs to walk to make it up the stairs.

 

He thinks it’s worth it.

  
~  


The blanket from the car drags behind Michael when they make it properly into Jack’s apartment.

 

Michael doesn’t notice much at first but his eyes do wander. He tries not to lean heavily on the furniture here but ends up leaning too far forward or too far back so Jack takes him by the shoulders and leads him to the couch.

 

Jack sits him down and gets coffee ready. Michael quietly croaks for three sugars and milk, please. Jack gives him three and a half with milk and two cookies.

 

While Michael sobers up, Jack peels off his coat and kicks off his shoes in the hall. He comes back to the couch to nudge Michael off it. For a moment, he says. Michael tries not to look offended but Jack smiles like he wants to tell him a secret and that smooths the rough edges.

 

Jack pulls the couch cushions off to unfold a bed and Michael can only grin like a child because there is nothing cooler than sofa-beds, as uncomfortable as they are. That is fact and law and Michael both drunk and sober will fight for it.

 

Soon enough they are side by side on it, Michael drinking his sweet coffee and dipping his cookies in it with Jack flipping channels with the volume low for the sake of the early morning.

 

Soon after that, Michael has his mug half finished and beside the sofa-bed on the floor with Jack moving his arm from the back of the sofa to the back of Michael. It doesn’t go unnoticed or unappreciated as Michael cuddles in close to Jack’s side.

 

They nudge each other’s feet and Jack smiles down at Michael while Michael smiles at the interaction. And then Michael turns his head to look up at Jack. And then Michael is leaning forward and kissing the man. And the chasteness is sweet as his coffee and makes his heart pound.

 

His hand moves from his side to Jack’s hand, tracing his knuckles and then his palm. Further, to his wrist and then to his inner forearm. Then sliding in to his thigh, the muscles there tightening under his touch.

 

Michael’s breaths grow shallow as Jack turns and his large hand cups Michael’s face so gently and makes their kisses firmer, giving it more substance with stability. Jack is so strong and Michael isn’t weak but he’s trembling for this and, damn the coffee or beer taste that lingers on his tongue, he laps at Jack’s lips for more.

 

Jack’s hands move under Michael’s shirt while Michael’s hands move around Jack’s neck. He groans softly and he’s happy to be sober for this. At least for this. Because it’s real and it’s slow and hot and gentle. God, it’s everything he’s been wanting and more.

 

His fingers bunch up the fabric of the back of Jack’s shirt, wanting to pull it off while Jack moves Michael’s shirt higher up his chest. Michael’s nipples peek out from the gathered material of his own shirt and they grow stiff in the cold air and stiffer under Jack’s thumbs.

 

“ _Ah-fuck-_ ”

 

He lets little curses slip through the sounds of shuffling materials, legs tangling with Jack’s under the covers and rutting his hard on into Jack’s thigh. Jack hums softly, guiding Michael through each sensation with patience and softness, letting him rub out each sharp zap of pleasure.

 

“Easy there, Michael.”

 

“ _Jesus fuck, Jack-_ ”

 

It feels better because even if the feelings won’t be there for long, Jack is there now and it is amazing. His fingers rolling over one nipple while his other hand rolls the meat of Michael’s ass. It makes Michael rut harder into Jack and he can feel Jack’s on erection with each movement of his hips.

 

“Slowly, now-”

 

“I wanna _fuuuuuck_ , dude- Don’t tell me to slow down nothing,” Michael groans. He’s whinging, he knows, but what he doesn’t know is that Jack doesn’t want to speed things up more than the pace they are going. Jack wants to savor the moment but also allow Michael to process every touch and allow him to react soberly to it.

 

“Maybe when you really want to, we can, but for now you can just rut against me, right?” Jack asks, and maybe just asking is what makes Michael moan or maybe it’s being limited to what he’s being allowed.

 

His heart aches again.

 

“I _really_ want to, though, like _dear fucking christ_ , _man_ , _Jack_ , _c’mon_ ,” Michael says in a rush, lips smearing ‘please’s into Jack’s shoulder.

 

He moves one hand from around Jack’s neck to reach down, trace the man’s soft belly down to the trail of hair leading lower. His fingertips meet the ridge of Jack’s erection and the man groans into Michael’s hair while Michael hums lowly in delight.

 

“Please, Jack,” he says, and he wants to be coy but instead he’s desperate, wanting to please and be pleased. “Been wantin’ this for ages.”

 

“Really?” Jack says, almost gasping when Michael’s fingers play more coy than Michael’s voice, thumbing the seam of Jack’s pants and slowly drawing the zipper down. His breath gets stuck in his throat audibly when the cotton of his underwear peeks with his erection from the zipper opening.

 

“Really,” Michael confirms, dropping more kisses onto Jack’s lips and pleased when the man returns them.

 

“Well shit,” Jack finally replies with a laugh, not completely disbelieving because, god, Michael is so adorably obvious when he’s lovesick for everyone, but Jack doesn’t relay that.

 

So, instead, Jack does pick up the pace a little. He lets Michael peel off his shirt while he throws Michael’s shirt aside. His mouth immediately goes to Michael’s nipples while his hands work ass and cock in tandem. And Michael moans, voice strained with a parched throat, and it sounds like a weak cry that Jack’s own cock throbs for.

 

Michael doesn’t sound wrecked or nervous. He sounds wanting. Impatient. But far too into the softness given, yielding to every touch like he’s never been fed these sorts of kisses. Jack wonders for a moment if it should pain him that this sort of sweetness sounds like something Michael has never experienced. The thought drifts away when Michael drags him up for a suffocating kiss and clambers onto his lap.

 

The desperate man grins against Jack and Jack bites his lip and lets the groan rumble in his chest and belly. Michael’s head buries itself into the crook of Jack’s neck and nips and bites and Jack sucks in a breath because it stings, but he doesn’t mind.

 

Michael mumbles things, like how Jack feels so nice and warm and perfect, and Jack cooes the same things back and more. It makes Michael grin and shake pleasantly, preening under praise. And somewhere through the rush of things, they slow down and he doesn’t notice, just swooning under the attention.

 

“Tell me how much more you want and I’ll see if I can give it,” Jack says while he gently rubs and squeezes Michael’s dick through his jeans. “If you’re not sober yet we can do it tomorrow…”

 

“I want it now!” Michael says, almost exclaims, and he’s breathless and his thighs squeeze around Jack’s hand making the man go back to teasing strokes rather than firm touches. It makes Michael whine and comply to leaving himself open. “God damn, I want it now. I’m really goddamn sober now so please, Jack-”

 

“I hear you. I know,” Jack says, and now his finger hooks onto the top of Michael’s underwear and Michael hisses when the cool air outside touches him. He bites his lip, watches his own cock twitch for Jack, and then his eyes flick up to see Jack smile, pride and satisfaction clearly visible. And Michael swoons again.

 

But he doesn’t swoon long when Jack moves from nipples to navel and the hairs on Michael’s taut abdomen feel like standing on end because Michael knows where that mouth is moving toward and he can’t help the anticipation that curls his belly and toes.

 

“ _Ohgodohgod_ ,” he repeats in whispers, one hand covering his mouth and the other moving the sparse bit of hair on Jack’s head out of the way.

 

Jack doesn’t swallow him down but rather kisses his way to the base of Michael’s shaft and then up to the tip, keeping a firm hand around Michael’s cock to stop it from twitching on his cheek. He licks precise stripes up and down, letting his tongue linger by Michael’s balls and watching Michael’s mouth drop and his cheeks puff bright pink under his freckles.

 

The man continues, his breath leaving cool trails where the saliva is still slick on Michael’s skin, and generous beads of pre bead up at the head. It’s when it naturally gathers to tumble down the ridge and further down the shaft that he takes Michael’s prick into his mouth.

 

The beard is itchy on his thighs and tickles the base of his cock but Jack moves fast enough that it is an issue forgotten. The speed doesn’t give much for suction strength and Michael ends up wanting and trying to fuck Jack’s mouth but Jack doesn’t allow it. He slows down by Michael’s cockhead on purpose, his beard touching no skin when his mouth is at least this high, and Michael wants to climax so badly. He is so ready to.

 

Michael feels as if he’s about to burst when Jack swirls his tongue along his head and presses against the hole where his pre gathered, more saltiness rising and taking the bait of Jack’s distracting tongue. Michael is faintly aware of how the saliva gathers and falls down the crease of his pelvis above his thighs and coats the lower part of his ass where Jack’s freer hand was squeezing.

 

“Do you still-”

 

“Don’t you fucking ask me that, don’t you _dare_ fucking ask me,” Michael huffs, hiding his face in his arm. He’s too aroused. Too needy. He can feel his own ass twitch in anticipation at this point. Things are too slow. Far too slow.

 

And god he loves it.

 

“I need to grab some things then, if you want to continue, that is,” Jack’s soft voice says against his chest, kissing it softly as his fingers brushed Michael’s nipples. Michael moans and nods stiffly.

 

“F-fuck, yeah, hurry, please,” he says, almost begging, and then he hears the sofa-bed creak and feels Jack’s weight move off the bed.

 

He turns on his stomach with a soft groan and ruts slowly against the sofa-bed. He keeps himself occupied for the short moment Jack is gone. He hears a bit of a rattle from what is either Jack’s bathroom or bedroom and turns over again when he hears Jack coming back.

 

“About fucking time,” Michael weakly jokes as he turns on his back to look up at Jack who leans over with a soft smile.

 

“Are you absolutely sure this is alright?” he asks, petting Michael’s inner thigh and beaming at how the man keens. As Michael nods, Jack murmurs his praises of how wonderful Michael looks and it makes Michael just beam right back.

 

Michael feels totally at ease as Jack’s large, warm hands rub out the tension under hot skin. He closes his eyes, hears the shift of material that is clothes against upholstery, and then feels a wet softness on his neck that is a stark contrast to the heated breaths that hit it.

 

Jack kisses Michael’s neck and shoulders as he pushes down Michael’s jeans and underwear just a little bit further below his knees. Behind Michael, he tears a wrapper and fumbles with the condom, a moment that makes Michael equal parts annoyed and amused as Jack tries to figure out which way it rolls on. The light of the TV makes it difficult when it shimmers with different colors over them.

 

Michael turns over to help, taking off his pants and shirt while he has the time. He feels the rim of the condom to find whether or not it’s inside-out and the pinches the tip, slowly stroking Jack as he moves it on. Jack groans and gives Michael an appreciative smile for the help. He even says thank you aloud, leaning over to kiss Michael’s forehead.

 

“Now to finally get the show on the road,” Michael mutters. His comment makes Jack laugh shortly before biting his own lip to restrain the groan he makes when Michael pushes him down to move onto his lap. Jack knows what and how it’s all going to happen. And he’s excited, electricity buzzing through his body from fingers to cock.

 

The slowness is definitely worth it in the end, Michael thinks as he bites his lip through the feeling of Jack’s cockhead pressing into him. It’s easy, filling and fulfilling in equal parts. Jack makes quiet sounds, voice pitching, and Michael thinks it’s adorable that this large man’s deep voice can break so easily. With just a roll of his hips, Michael makes Jack yelp in pleasure, makes him pinch his hips with just enough pressure to ache but not to bruise.

 

“Wow- Holy fuck, wow,” Jack mutters. Michael nods his agreement. Wow.

 

He’s sweaty and tired and can feel his cock throbbing for release. He murmurs his closeness into Jack’s cheek, his beard, his shoulder -- “Dude, keep going, so close now, just don’t stop-” -- and it’s the sort of build up where certain thoughts can ruin the moment if he thinks about it. Like if he left the stove on at home. Or if someone called him about something urgent at work.

 

Or saying ‘I love you’ to a one night stand.

 

He avoids thinking it. Feeling it. Gets off, splashes his appreciation thick between them and feels Jack’s cock throb hard, no doubt that far behind and climaxing soon after. They look at each other -- Michael admires Jack’s sweat-slick face, his brows creased as he pushes through over-sensitivity and pulls out of the warmth of Michael’s body -- and smile with an outstanding glow of post-coital bliss and fluttering emotion.

  
~  


It’s wonderful to be wrapped up on cold days, especially by thick arms with covered with thick scratchy hair that makes Michael snort in a morning laugh. He buries himself in that warmth, pulls the cover of their heads as they both sigh and their legs tangle. He rolls his hips slowly, draws out a groan from his bed partner and revels in how Jack grabs his hips and shakes and moans through the morning fatigue to enjoy this moment.

 

They don’t do anything beyond the teasing. There’s a bit of lips being pressed to lips and Michael loves it. Loves sighing and smiling and laughing, completely breathing Jack in with every make out session before they part ways until the next night Michael drops by.

 

And for a while, he does it often. Makes sure to visit Jack every night after the one they spent together.

 

It’s no solid relationship. A casual affair. But it’s _fun_. There’s no heavy burden of what to do next, no awkward goodbyes. Just...attention given and reciprocated. Careful attention. Loving attention.

 

Jack treats Michael like a gem, polishes him up to a glow. Michael, in return, is absolutely smitten. He craves the conversation, the compliments, the damn _encouragement_ when he tells Jack about his longing to do something that isn’t an office job.

 

“You’ve done good, Michael.”; “I’m impressed!”; “You need to relax, Michael. You’re doing alright. Rest.”

 

The small things that show Michael that Jack cares for him as a _person_ rather than just a fling makes him swoon far more than the physical attraction he feels.

 

For every comment that makes his stomach turn and his cock hard, he’s smothering Jack in hot kisses to hide wide grins. God, he can learn to love this man deeper than the little loves he always has. He thinks he can do it.

 

(He always thinks he can do it. Only too late will he ever realize he can’t.)

 

He has Jack on the couch, his work laptop on the coffee table abandoned, and goes down on the man until he comes undone in his mouth. He doesn’t care that the taste of a climax isn’t the best, he just swallows it down and smiles went Jack’s dick swells and twitches at the action.

 

“Jesus, Michael,” Jack splutters after a moment regaining what breath he could. His glasses are askew and his fine hair a mess. He’s breathing so hard that his facial hair ruffle with each exhale.

 

“Keep complimenting me, man, I’m a sucker for it,” Michael says with a smile, moving onto Jack’s lap and slowly rocking into him. Michael’s still hard and it feels so good to have heavy hands on the small of his back, rubbing relaxing circles until his rolling his neck and reclining into the touch.

 

“If that’s a pun, I’m going to refuse,” Jack replies with a (sex-tired) smile of his own. Michael snorts.

 

“Please,” Michael says softly. He knows what tone to use, what smile to put on, what angle his eyes should look down at Jack when their foreheads are pressed together, to make Jack positively primal. It’s a talent, he thinks. Jack is also aware of this talent because despite his arousal growing fuller he tries to not make this go to fast. He likes it better when it lasts and when it ends with Michael’s worshipped body writhing under the most innocent of post-coital touches.

 

The silent banter doesn’t matter so much though when they both get pieces of what they want in the end.

 

(Michael rides Jack at the pace Jack makes, the man’s large hands pushing him down for his own pleasure. Sometimes Jack will gently nudge Michael to lean forward or back to get the angle just right for Michael to get lost in a bit of his own bliss.

 

“ _Fuck, yes, Jack-_ ”

 

“ _Michael, fuck-_ ”

 

Sometimes the words are lost on both their ears, the soft slap of Michael’s ass on the Jack’s upper thighs being the only resounding thing they can both hear. It turns Michael on to hear himself echo in the room and it makes Jack throb when he walks the mental line of ‘I want to hear you but I have neighbors’. It’s an excitement enjoyable by the pair who are very much aware of each other’s little imaginings.

 

They grin at each other with every creak of the couch, every slap of skin, every loud cry that Michael makes (sometimes on purpose) right until the time they both wrap the night up.)

 

Jack finishes a second time and Michael shakes as he feels the edge of a constant state of climax. He grins all the while loving how he twitches and rocks into Jack all over again when they cuddle up on the couch.

 

“You’re insatiable.” Jack grouses as the high wears off.

 

Michael laughs as he drifts off.

 

“I think I’m loving that about you.”

 

He tries to forget the whisper and the press of lips to his cheek that makes the place run cold.

  
~  


Dread. That’s probably what he feels.

 

‘I love a lot of things about you too,’ is probably something he could say but he _can’t_ and that’s the problem.

 

The lovestruck feeling has disappeared completely, replaced with guilt that builds the longer he avoids Jack’s gaze.

 

He bites his lip, worried. He doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want to deflate that balloon of pure emotion that has built up in Jack. He’s so good, so much better than Michael. And that’s what he loves about the man, maybe. But he certainly doesn’t love being _loved_. Directly loved. Properly loved.

 

How many weeks have passed? He doesn’t know because, yes, time did fly when they were together, but he knows himself well enough that he isn’t the sort to stay for the long term. He’ll find someone new and pine for months until the attention is reciprocated or he finds another someone new.

 

When he walks into the bar again, takes his regular seat at the bar again, Jack smiles at him, again. The smile isn’t as warm as Michael remembers it though. It’s a little sorrowful. And Michael’s stomach sinks when he realizes why.

 

He quickly flushes up to his ears and looks down at his beer.

 

“It’s no hard feelings, y’know?” Jack says after a moment. Michael’s heart squirms on his sleeve when he looks at Jack, feeling ashamed. Michael wishes the bar was busier so he didn’t have to hear this. But better now than never.

 

“I’m sorry,” Michael replies lamely. Jack laughs and it doesn’t sound bitter, no part of it resentful. Just a small disappointment for a longing that could have been but never was.

 

“It was fun though,” Jack says.

 

“It was…” Wonderful, romantic, relaxing, comfortable. It felt like home. “It was a lot.”

 

Jack looks at Michael like he knows. Michael doesn’t shrink like he feels he wants to. He just looks at Jack with a thousand and one apologies behind his eyes.

 

“I’ll miss your hot chocolate,” Michael says.

 

“I’ll miss the blowjobs,” Jack replies. And Michael laughs because it’s not what he expects to here, nor is it something he particularly wants to either, but it’s something that makes him feel less heartbroken than he could be.

 

After Michael gets over the giggles that shakes his ribcage and the snorts that escape him, Jack leans over and presses his lips to Michael’s forehead. “I’ll miss you too.”

 

Michael grins. His nose itches with sniffling and tears of guilt and hurt that he feels like he deserves to experience. The pain doesn’t cross his face though.

 

“I think I’ll definitely miss you, Jack.”

 

“You’re still welcome here, I hope you know that,” Jack says, moving back. “And if you ever need help, I’ll be there for you.”

 

“Best bartender ever,” Michael comments, swipes under his eye quickly because he swears he felt something wet on his cheek.

  
Jack winks. “You know it.”


	2. Just a Little

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update is for you, @ThatTromboneChick. [ _[epic sax solo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kas6akz1jWU)_ ]

**_A Different Love_ **

* * *

 

_Only blue or black days,_

_Electing strange perfections in any stranger I choose_

* * *

 

 

A different scene, a different smell, a different drink, a different him. Michael vies for something harder to sip, letting the burn trace his throat with pinpoint precision.

 

He’s not avoiding Jack, he wants to think about him not visiting the bar. He even goes there occasionally and pass a moment or three with a drink and a joke. He just doesn’t want to grow bored of Sweet Jack, with rum-colored eyes and gin-colored hair.

 

His dear bartender.

 

But he needs a refresher period. The people at that bar are no Jack and while he envies their flirtatious remarks and their smirking expressions, he grows tired of the routine in that specific place.

 

He downs another shot of tequila, sucks the lime and shivers with a rush that makes the inside of his nose feel fuzzy.

 

“Bloody hell, I’ll have one of what he’s havin’.” A voice close to Michael calls, and Michael loosens up and away from his alcoholic haze to stare for a moment.

 

His heart throbs and he curses himself again.

 

The man is unconventionally attractive in a way. Unconventional as in he is someone who still hasn’t grown into his nose. Attractive as in his eyes are emeralds and his hair are wisps of soft brown to Michael’s beer goggles. (Or tequila goggles, as the case may be.)

 

“Look like you’re havin’ fun, though you’re by yourself,” the man says, shaking Michael out of his thoughts.

 

Unconventional - That fucking voice with that accent is no doubt going to be annoying in a moment.

 

“Alcohol does that people, don’t you know?” Michael replies, snorting. He raises his refilled shot glass to the man. “Rule one of this though: Don’t drown.”

 

Michael smiles at a memory. Gavin smiles at a witticism.

 

Attractive - The small half grin he gives where his eyes shine, happy, and his mouth twitches, unsure.

 

“M’Gavin, by the way!” the foreigner introduces. “If we’re drinkin’ together, might as well be on a first name basis, righ’?”

 

“Michael,” he returns, “Don’t call me ‘Mike’.”

 

“Wouldn’t ever. Awful sounding nickname, no offense.”

 

“None taken.”

 

After that exchange, Michael did expect more. He feels silly for even considering it but when he glances over at Gavin - what sort of name is that, he thinks, but after a few more shots it just sounds _right_ \- it seems like a perfectly made assumption.

 

Because Gavin is such a _flirt_.

 

He’s a sociable man, talking to anyone new who comes to the bar, and even through that he still manages to drag Michael into the conversation as if they have been friends for longer than a five minute introduction.

 

“You’ll probably scam a drink outta me, bein’ as pretty as you, but would you like to join us? Don’t feel obligated though, just tryin’ to get this one out of his head!” he jokes. And Michael rolls his eyes but can’t help the small smile that crosses his lips when Gavin and the new woman both look at him with wide eyes and wider smiles.

 

“Don’t make me splash my drink in your face, Gav,” Michael says, downing it first before getting his glass topped, “ _You_ came over _here_ first.”

 

“That I did,” he concedes, then he turns to the lady and says, “He’s just a cute thing, innit he?”

 

She snorts, laughs bubbling forth, before nodding and writing something down.

 

“My number, in case you boys want some company,” she says over the music, close to Michael’s ear. She tucks the napkin she wrote on in Gavin’s pocket before walking away with another drink.

 

“Fake or not, she’s considerate,” Gavin says, waving her goodbye. Michael snorts.

 

She _is_ pretty.

 

He looks into his glass.

 

He supposes...he _is_ cute, in a sense.

 

He takes another shot.

 

 _Weird_ , he thinks.

  
~

He feels compelled, almost, to go back to that same club and sit at that very same bar. He finds himself surprised when Gavin is there first.

 

“Michael!” he says in his horribly thick accent. Somehow it isn’t annoying. Not yet.

 

Michael sits down, orders a beer, and Gavin follows suit probably hoping it’s something good. It really isn’t.

 

“Ran into Rebecca again,” he starts. Michael nods, disinterested and not completely invested in the conversation. Especially if it’s to talk about women.

 

“Who’s Rebecca?”

 

“Brunette, fit, thought you were gay-”

 

“That so?”

 

Gavin snickers into his fist.

 

“I’m joking, really, but I did think she thought we were looking for a threesome.”

 

“Most guys don’t do threes with other guys,” Michael says, nodding his head toward the barkeep when he received his beer. “Normally it’s two chicks, right?”

 

“Doesn’t have to be though, does it?” Gavin reasons, and even though it’s a weak rebuttal he is right. So Michael shrugs in acknowledgement and swigs some of his beer while Gavin flips through things in his phone.

 

Through the night, Gavin recites odd facts that Michael never knew and sometimes Michael would call bullshit because there’s no way there’s a man with two dicks.

 

“It’s true though! Look, do you want to see pictures?” Gavin exclaims. Michael roars with laughter, a weird sound that starts in his nose and leaves his throat. He can’t breathe because all these facts sound so ridiculous.

 

“Fuck yes I want to see pictures, but that’s not the point!” he says, “Just how the fuck is that possible? And _no_ that doesn’t mean I want you to actually answer it!”

 

“Do you think he fucks with them both?” Gavin asks, “Like, double penetration? Or one each for anyone? Two dudes, two chicks, either or.”

 

“I don’t think that’s how double dicks would work, Gav.”

 

“Damn, it says here that he has to hold one tip so he can pee out the other! You think he has to do the same shit when he comes?”

 

“I am going to fucking kill you.”

 

“Let me see this guy’s dick for real first, at least.”

 

Michael snorts, orders their fourth beer each, shakes the twitchiness of his fingers for a quick second, and then looks at Gavin with a smirk.

 

“Okay, so, you have a million fucking dollars, but to get it you have to hold one of that dude’s tips so he can piss _and_ jizz…”

  
~

It’s stupid, Michael thinks, that he’s going through the same cycle again. He thought he was sated, if not emotionally then at least physically, but he finds himself staring again. That little creeping feeling that starts in his neck and claws around to his thighs.

 

He’s hot and heavy for something to feel. To touch. To love. He’s got so much he’s willing to give and he feels like worshipping someone again, and letting them worship him in return.

 

He visits Jack not long before he goes to the club. Jack isn’t bitter about it, thank god, because that man deserves so much more than what Michael is willing to give to him at the moment. Michael spares him a brief kiss behind the counter that leads to a bit of light fondling and Jack wishes him well when he leaves.

 

The reassurance of someone he could have potentially loved...doesn’t help much. It makes Michael feel more confused. Jack is so calm and casual about things. And Michael is unsure of why he’s so comfortable by it. It’s his lack of certainty that makes him feel more on edge than he should be.

 

So when Michael enters the club and takes his seat, he’s tired and slightly irritated. And it’s something that’s easy to notice with his fingers tight around a bottleneck, sips small and the pauses between long.

 

Gavin is the late one this time, Michael notices but tries not to question. He doesn’t want to think about it. About him.

 

“Free spot?” Someone asks.

 

“Maybe,” Michael replies, and his smile is bitter but comes off like a smirk. When you’re looking for a pickup, you don’t look at their eyes.

 

“Haven’t see you around before,” Someone starts, breaking the ice with an audible crack.

 

“I hide behind drinks,” Michael muses. Someone shares his laugh for a different reason.

 

“Would you…?”

 

“If you’re willing.” Michael replies, shaking his empty glass.

 

Someone pays for another drink. Someone leads him to the backdoor of the club. Someone nips and bites greedily at Michael’s neck and Michael groans, high and reedy.

 

He bites his own lip to hold back more sounds. It’s not out of being quiet though. More out of shame that he’s reduced to a wanting puddle like this by Someone. A nobody. They’re good looking enough though.

 

“What’ll be?” Michael gets out, fingers curling onto the hairs by the nape of Someone’s neck. “Blowjobs in the dark or…?”

 

“We could always go to yours-”

 

“That’s not how it’s gonna work, babe,” Michael interrupts, trying to not sneer so obviously. The endearment should do enough.

 

“Well then,” the stranger says smoothly, “Where would you like me?”

 

“Bit of foreplay would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Michael says, leaning in a little closer. He tries not to focus too much on how this person isn’t what he wants. But they’re attractive enough. Generically so. It’s annoying as well.

 

The stranger takes the hint and the bitter taste of beer is long forgotten in favor of spearmint gum. Closer now, Michael can smell the cologne, rich and something that makes him groan softly. This person is perfect, save for the fact it’s not Michael’s kind of perfect.

 

When the stranger’s hand moves to gently squeeze Michael’s thigh, he thinks this’ll have to do.

 

“Mind the interruption, boy?”

 

Michael blinks out of the growing haze of arousal and turns to the voice. He coughs the pitchiness in his throat away and smiles, almost in amusement at the look on Gavin’s face.

 

“Not at all,” Michael replies, and he turns to Someone who looks shattered about the cockblock. “Maybe next time, babe.” The tone to his parting words is still laced with sarcasm and the person just coughs and takes their leave to either jerk it in the bathroom or hit on some other poor soul. It’s hard to figure which.

 

Neither Michael or Gavin care though. Gavin takes his seat and they start a round of drinks - all on Gavin as an apology for the lateness.

  
~

Hanging out casually during the daylight hours is a different and new thing for Michael. The strangers who become acquaintances who become friends never see him during the afternoons, grouchy and warm and dying for a coffee.

 

No one ever got the pleasure of seeing him dressed down to jeans and a regular t-shirt rather than the slacks and button-up. Sometimes there’s the occasional Casual Friday wear which is still a level dressed up in comparison to 3 In The Afternoon Wednesday Wear but it hardly counts.

 

It makes Michael’s skin itch under the material. They’re friendly, not strangers, but not friends, and at this point most certainly not just acquaintances. He can’t place where he and Gavin are on the ladder of social relationships. They’re relationship in general can be described more as a slider, shifting between best friends and the tourist/native. A colorful spectrum of idiocy.

 

In regards to the tourist/native interaction, however, it’s all too unironically correct sometimes. Gavin squawks in awe over tall buildings and snorts at odd names. He takes selfies with Michael and sometimes asks others to take the picture for them.

 

He hugs Michael’s side close, his chin itching the apples of Michael’s reddening cheeks, and throws up an awkward thumbs up as the next poor photo-taking victim snaps a picture of them. Michael’s heart can’t help but race and he smiles still, brow quirked as he looked up at his compadre.

 

“You’re gonna waste space on your phone with dumb pictures of us every five seconds,” Michael teases, releasing himself from Gavin’s hug. He misses the warmth already.

 

“They’re never a waste of space,” Gavin says simply and with a smile that makes Michael’s heart drop and lift in quick succession.

 

“Whatever,” he says, shrugging it off to avoid addressing it further. He wants to ask what Gavin meant by that. He also wants to not read anything at all into it.

 

The sound of his stomach growling breaks all train of thought. It’s loud enough for Gavin to hear and laugh at.

 

“What’s American McDonald’s like?”

 

“Fucking filthy,” Michael answers, “It’s great, you’ll love it.”

 

Gavin laughs again and let’s Michael lead the short way to the fast food shop -- “There was one just there though!”; “They’re everywhere, dude. ‘Murica.” -- and Michael is feeling hungrier smelling the sweet scent of fries and greasy burgers.

 

Michael has to order food for Gavin who likes to be the difficult mix of unsure, uncaring, and uncertain. It only took the threat of a Happy Meal to get somewhere but it still took a while and Michael actually had the heart to look apologetic at the poor teenager behind the register. She just smiled in understanding, glad for it to be over, and Michael agreed with the sentiment as he took Gavin to stand to the side and wait.

 

Standing close to the wall, he has the chance to relax as people come and go. Gavin looks around, probably picking out the difference between England and America in the chain store, and Michael snorts before shifting into a comfortable ‘cool guy’ lean. Gavin eventually joins him with the lean-and-wait and they share an almost uncomfortably comfortable silence. At a McDonald’s.

 

Michael tries not to bask in it. He tells himself to be cool, to not stare at Gavin’s nose like the four-year-old in front of them, to not smile at the charm in his cheeks or the familiarity of his light beard. It’s all so different and nice. So nice. It has him double-taking mentally to find something that could make this less nice than it is. He wants to find a dumb flaw, or something to slow him down from falling fast. He had only gotten over Jack a few weeks ago and now he wants another rush. His selfishness, however, doesn’t cool the warmth that spreads through his fingers.

 

They get their food, a few fries shoved in their mouths as they started walking down the street back to the parking lot where Michael’s car is. They take a seat on the curb and dig into the food. According to Gavin, the cola is sweeter and the fries are thinner and less salty. The burger is juicier, the nuggets larger, and the food better -- he says this all while smiling and sneaking glances at Michael who stuffs his face and pretends not to notice, convinces himself there’s nothing to notice.

 

He doesn’t notice Gavin’s closeness, legs touching with the smallest of playful nudges that he returns. He doesn’t notice Gavin’s shoulder pressed to his, almost at a level where Michael could just rest is head comfortably. He doesn’t notice Gavin trying to steal his food, and he certainly doesn’t respond.

 

Gavin does notice the lingering graze of their thighs when he nudges Michael. He notices Michael edging close enough to a lean on his shoulder that he moves his head slightly to accommodate just in case. He notices the annoyed smile on Michael’s face when he steals some nuggets from his paper bag of food.

 

“Better hurry up and eat, boy, before it goes cold,” he comments. Michael scoffs.

 

“You mean before you eat it all yourself,” Michael replies. Gavin shrugs like the details don’t matter so much and Michael snorts again.

 

“This isn’t that filling anyway. I’ll just make something at home,” he tells Gavin, “Might watch some dumb TV shows and have a drink. Don’t feel like going out.”

 

“So I’ll be alone at the club tonight,” Gavin whines, a pout prominent on his face, “Thought you were my boy, boy!” Michael laughs.

 

“I don’t usually take guys to my place,” Michael says, and with no subtlety and in a tumble of words he thought of but never thought he would say, he adds, “I’m usually taken.”

 

And the innuendo stills the air. Knocks the wind out of even Michael’s lungs because he’s too sober for this. So he stands quickly, throws his rubbish into the bin but misses, and makes his way to the car.

 

“Hurry up, dude. If I miss even a minute of The Office you are totally going to be ‘alone a’ the club tonigh’,” he says, exaggerating Gavin’s accent when he mimics him.

 

Gavin blinks out of his blank moment to dumbly follow Michael, still trying to process it all. Michael is doing the very same, his hands tight on the steering wheel and making a point of not looking at the other. Gavin doesn’t make a sound, slowly eating to occupy himself, and Michael tries not to notice that as he also attempts to not speed back home.

  
~

The awkward silence doesn’t really leave until they get a conversation going. It’s about the apartment.

 

Gavin walks in, takes his shoes off at the door after Michael, and tries to locate the couch to recline into it while Michael produces two packs out of his fridge and dumps it on the coffee table. He goes back to the kitchen to get some food and dumps that too.

 

He flicks the TV on and decides to unceremoniously dump himself next a bit away from Gavin. With them both comfortably spread, only their knees touch as they lounge and drink.

 

Michael is already halfway through his first beer by the time Gavin finishes eating and opens up his first. Something still hangs between them and Michael doesn’t address it, instead responding to whatever Gavin comes up with.

 

They talk about the ads that pass by, the show that’s on currently, and sometimes it segues into something on the internet and then they both check their phones to fact check.

 

“Fuck off; there is no way there is a fucking legitimate non-pornographic movie called ‘ _Sex Lives of the Potato Men_ ’,” Michael grumbles as he punches it in.

 

Alas…

 

“No!” he groans, “Fuck no!” Despite his drunken shouting in a gentle rage, he’s laughing and Gavin snickers next to him. “Fuck you, no, what the fuck?!” He keeps laughing.

 

“Told ya, boy,” Gavin says through his own laughter, “I saw it one day while looking at The Ridiculous 6 wiki page! ‘Rare 0% rating’.”

 

“Well, yeah! Look at the fucking title! And not even a porno!” Michael shakes his head, his laughs lessening. “This is your country’s fucking fault too!”

 

“What?!”

 

“ _‘S_ _ex Lives of the Potato Men is a British comedy film released in 2004. The film is about the sexual antics of a group of potato delivery men in Birmingham_.’ Fucking hell.”

 

“The Ridiculous 6 is all your fault then, by that logic!”

 

“Anything Adam Sandler does is the fault of Adam Sandler,” Michael retorts.

 

That conversation topic ends there and Michael occasionally mutters the movie title in disbelief. The entire conversation itself doesn’t end, though. They drink more, talk more, slur more. Sometime during all the relaxing and show reruns that pass by without much of a thought, Michael has his feet propped on Gavin’s thigh and Gavin’s free hand is rubbing Michael’s ankle absentmindedly. Michael notices it a bit late and gives Gavin a look but no indication to stop, so Gavin doesn’t.

 

He loves the casual attention.

 

Michael keeps drinking. Soon he’s ignoring the TV and looking over at Gavin, smiling lazily and wiggling his toes in his socks when Gavin’s knuckles run under the arch of Michael’s foot. Gavin glances over at Michael, shoots him a smile, then returns to going between checking his phone and watching whatever’s on.

 

“Hey, Michael?” he says after a moment.

 

“Sup?”

 

“Are you gay?”

 

Gavin says it so casually but so childishly, or maybe not childishly but with a curiosity that _needs_ to be sated. Michaels tries not to choke on his beer as he takes another swig.

 

“Depends on who’s askin’,” he answers. Gavin groans and rolls his eyes.

 

“Well, I am, aren’t I?” he says, brow quirked up at Michael.

 

“That you are, Gavvy,” Michael says in a teasing voice. Gavin frowns at the tone and presses further.

 

“ _So_?”

 

Michael looks at Gavin properly now, takes in the expression of confusion, anxiety, and interest, all on one oddly proportionate face that is very attractive. He gives him an exaggerated once over for affect and watches Gavin’s eyes flicker down Michael’s own body for a moment. It makes Michael grin.

 

He downs the rest of his beer and bites his lip when his chest feels hot from the alcoholic rush down his throat. He looks at Gavin with a smirk and leans back against the arm of his couch, moves his foot to trace the inside of Gavin’s thigh.

 

“I could be.”

 

When Gavin starts to move closer to Michael, Michael stops him in his tracks with his foot pressing into Gavin’s groin a bit firmer than before. Michael grins when Gavin groans and rocks into the pressure.

 

Michael continues for a while, rubbing his foot up and down the growing hardness in Gavin’s jeans. It’s a good feeling, doubly so thanks to the alcohol that makes his heart and dick throb even more. He bites his lip and wants to touch for himself, needs to feel Gavin’s body under his fingers instead.

 

He stops and Gavin is shaking with want but doesn’t advance on Michael. Not yet. He waits, and Michael can’t help but feel pleased about that as he stands to put himself in front of Gavin. Gavin still waits with a mild impatience that is written all over his face and is noticeable in his jittery hands.

 

Michael’s knee presses into the couch, just an inch or so away from Gavin’s hard on, and he takes to straddling Gavin’s thigh. He rocks into him that way, just rolling his hips and grinding. All while Gavin can’t move forward that bit to sate his own need for pressure and pleasure.

 

“ _Fuuuuuuck_ , yes,” Michael hisses out, grinning as his head drops onto Gavin’s shoulder and he grinds down harder. Gavin’s hands begin to move to Michael’s hips to steady him and also making him grind closer to him but Michael pins Gavin’s hands to the couch, one to the arm and one close to where his thigh.

 

Gavin groans, impatient, but Michael keeps him still, nudges his head out of the way to start kissing and biting at his neck. And that makes Gavin moan louder. He’s rocking into air, trying to reach the knee that parts his legs and keeps them open.

 

“ _Michael, boy, c’mon_ ,” he whispers harshly, breathing out a little laugh as he begs.

 

“ _Mhm_ …” Michael hums. He licks a long stripe from collarbone to chin and sucks a tremendous hickey into Gavin’s neck. It’s dark, unable to be covered, and it spurs them both on.

 

Michael’s lips move lower. He opens up Gavin’s button-up shirt and kisses more along the shallow lines of his pecs and abdomen, moves up to flick his tongue along a dark nipple before moving back down lower to the button of Gavin’s jeans.

 

He slides off the couch to comfortably position himself between Gavin’s legs. Gavin gasps when he realizes just what Michael is going to do, only processing it now after processing everything else. Like Michael’s lovely lips, the skew of his glasses, the mess of his curls, the red of his cheeks.

 

“ _Michael_ …” Gavin mutters, running his hand through the other’s hair and moving his glasses away.

 

“Put ‘em on the table,” Michael mumbles as he unbuttons Gavin’s jeans and pulls down the zipper. Gavin fumbles to do just that while Michael doesn’t do anything to stylize the pulling down of his underwear and the quick swallowing down of his cock.

 

Michael never had much experience with uncut cocks so he tests out the waters with Gavin in his mouth. His tongue runs over the head and along the skin that is pulled back slightly by the blood rush of Gavin’s erection. There’s no taste to savor but reactions to learn from, like the long moan he draws out when he sucks hard around the head and bobs.

 

“N-not too hard, Michael,” Gavin hisses, “Gunna blow if you keep doin’ that.”

 

Michael pops off and his tongue swipes under the sensitive skin as he slowly and carefully jerks Gavin off.

 

“What if I want you to?”

 

Gavin breathes out a laugh.

 

“At least lemme last long enough to be able to help you too.”

 

“You feeling like passing out after this already?”

 

“S’what bein’ drunk does,” Gavin says with a shrug. Michael rolls his eyes but still smiles and complies. He wants to live up the warmth that keeps on getting him warmer - that rich drunkenness where he can still feel and think everything.

 

When he moves back onto the couch, Gavin takes his mouth and kisses him firmly. There’s no fierceness or domination. Just the confirmation of the reality that’s passing between them. A reassurance, almost, that what they’re doing is real and they’re both alright with it.

 

Michael responds with a firm push back and Gavin grins when he feels it, hands going to Michael’s jeans a pulling them down while Michael pushes the rest of Gavin’s shirt off before going to his pants next. It’s all clothes being removed, tongues being tied, and a few bottles shifting on the floor beneath them as they chuck article after article of clothing away.

 

“Lemme return the favor for earlier, boy,” Gavin mutters on Michael’s lips, moving down to Michael’s thighs and sucking small bites into the soft flesh before giving attention to his cock.

 

Gavin doesn’t linger too long on one spot. He only spends just enough time to get a loud enough moan from Michael to know that it’s a job well done before moving onto his next spot. He moves from thigh, to shaft, to cock head, to a sac, then to a thigh again. He lavish attention over Michael’s dick until it’s wet and twitching in the cold where the air hits damp skin.

 

He moves again, lifting Michael up a little by his thighs, before moving without much warning to Michael’s ass. And Michael does nothing to contain the broken gasp that turns into a moan that sounds almost like a sob with how much Michael shakes. The sound doesn’t make Gavin stop this time, though, his tongue teasing every bit he could reach and taste.

 

“ _Oh- oh shit!_ ”

 

“Keep looking at me, Michael,” Gavin mutters against Michael’s thigh, “Just watch.”

 

Michael does. And it’s torturous, he thinks, being stretched so wonderfully but never given more than a teaser of tongue. It adventures in just deep enough to feel something, to wet him enough to take more, but never any further, and Michael holds onto the thought that Gavin will move or do something more.

 

But he doesn’t. And Michael can feel his orgasm build up with a weak foundation that threatens to crash at any moment. He’s already leaning over the edge and looks away from Gavin but the man stops so Michael, wanting that attention and that wetness that makes him spilling pre over his belly, has to watch and wait for his tipping point to come to him.

 

Gavin stops again and Michael finds himself rocking back into the retreating appendage but it’s soon replaced by a finger. Then another. Michael rocks into those instead, pulling Gavin down to press their foreheads together. Michael can moan more freer with Gavin closer, allowing softer moans to sound louder beside Gavin’s ear. Gavin loves it.

 

“Coffee table drawer. Second one,” Michael mutters, feeling the saliva dry on his skin and the uncomfortable drag of Gavin’s fingers after.

 

Gavin reaches over with his left hand, twisting awkwardly to grab the handle and pull the drawer open. He grabs the bottle inside and inspects it before looking at Michael and trying not to laugh.

 

“Have sex in the living room often?” he teases. Michael scoffs.

 

“I work in the IT department and live here alone with a flatscreen. Sex happens in places that usually aren’t here with people who usually don’t know me,” he says while Gavin warms the lube between his fingers.

 

“Condoms?” Gavin asks.

 

Michael’s belly is warm, his heart rushing, and he can’t wait for Gavin to roll one on. He also doesn’t want to break the moment by rushing to his room to collect one. So he urges Gavin with a roll of his hips to forget it for now.

 

“Just pull out,” he mutters, looking at Gavin who stares at him as if looking to make sure it was definitely okay.

 

“Are you-?”

 

“ _Gavin_ ,” Michael interrupts. Gavin closes his mouth and gives a slow nod.

 

Michael watches as Gavin jerks himself off with a few firm tugs to keep him hard and well lubricated. It’s not particularly hot but the way Gavin’s knuckles move when he rolls his wrist and the way his hand twists on the downward stroke before firmly stroking up and collecting a small pool of pre in his skin that cascades down his shaft...God, Michael wants to watch Gavin do that again and again.

 

He doesn’t get to after a moment, because Gavin is lining himself up and steadily pushing in. Michael is half scared that he’s too tight, that Gavin’s skin will pull and he’ll hurt him, but that isn’t the case at all. Michael is perfectly open for Gavin as he inches closer and closer and he groans when Michael tenses and pulls him in. Gavin pants at Michael, tells him he’s tight, and Michael splutters apologies until they’re lost to the air in his moans when Gavin sets a pace.

 

Michael bites his lip, grins because it feels amazing in the sobering haze of partial-drunkenness. And he can tell Gavin feels the same because when he opens his eyes he can see the man struggling to hold a grin through the pleasure. He looks even more handsome this way, usually gelled hair disheveled and his mouth slightly parted to breathe.

 

Michael grabs Gavin’s face and without warning smashes their lips together in the heat of desperation and a need to do more than just rock back into Gavin’s hips. Moans bubble in his throat and he pants for air when they part only to go back at it again.

 

Eventually Gavin is allowed the brief domination of putting his hands on Michael’s hips and pushing him down to grind into his erection. The volume of Michael’s moaning rises and falls when he realizes just how loud he’s getting. _Neighbors_ , he thinks at the back of his mind, but it’s all lost in the haze of being lust drunk. A temporary moment of panic before he returns to a moment of relaxed pleasure.

 

Soon, everything slows for him, like the roll of his and Gavin’s hips, the breaths they take despite how fast their hearts race, and especially the kiss they share that swallows up the whimper Michael makes as he paints Gavin’s stomach.

 

Gavin speeds things up all over again, finds his own climax, and pulls out just in time. Michael can feel it over his ass, between his thighs, and he’s even more aware when more of Gavin’s climax comes, thick strips coating the base of his own cock while Gavin shakes and huffs.

 

It’s good. So good. And Michael has himself almost wishing Gavin came in him instead. Because it’s hot and sticky and the slide of it against his skin feels incredible on his sex-sensitive skin. But instead, he grabs any article of clothing and wipes it off, slumping on Gavin unceremoniously and reaching over for a drink.

 

They lay together for a while, just enjoying being stuck to each other, having drinks, swapping spit in sloppy kisses, before passing out without recalling whatever lead up to sex.

  
~

Michael isn’t sure of how long he and Gavin were fucking around. Time is nonlinear when Michael is with him and it’s nice. It’s nice to go to obscure places tourists wouldn’t know about, then hang out at the bar, and then return to Michael’s apartment to have sex, and it feels like all of that went passed within a few hours rather than a day.

 

Gavin likes to lay on the attention thick when it gets closer to the day of his departure. He buys Michael nice things, treats him to dinner at nice places that are kind of tourist-y but Michael doesn’t mind when Gavin drops a kiss on his pasta sauce-stained cheek and calls him some sickeningly sweet name.

 

As always, he revels in the attention while he has it, pulling Gavin into cubicles in public spaces for a quick one before they leave for their next location.

 

They’re in Gavin’s hotel room when Michael is the one to push into Gavin, enjoying the way Gavin bites his lip and stares at him as he does so. Gavin is all coyness, waggling brows and childish grins. And even during sex, Gavin won’t shut up, asking if he can be tight enough to pull the condom right off of Michael’s dick. And then he even tries, tightening his muscles and making Michael gasp for a moment in pain before he thrusts back into Gavin to salvage the pleasure.

 

He has Gavin riding in his lap against the head of the hotel bed, and Gavin is huffing, still trying to talk in between breaths, and the only time he shuts up for a second is when he comes on Michael while Michael comes in him.

 

They clean up in the shower, have sex in the shower, clean up again, get changed, have sex before they properly get changed, and then Michael is helping Gavin pack all of his things for when he leaves in the next two days.

 

Gavin suggests they keep in contact and Michael agrees to it, just because he really doesn’t mind Gavin and at this point his lovestruck feeling dissipated into a fond friendship. And it’s so anticlimactic. He waits for the ‘I love you’ to end it all, almost conceited about it when he thought, ‘why hasn’t he said it yet?’

 

But it doesn’t come and he doesn’t wait around for it anymore. It’s different.

 

It’s different when Michael gives Gavin a kiss goodbye, something soft and fond but not enamored. And it’s different when Gavin walks away with a crooked smile, wishing Michael a farewell and to talk soon. It’s so different when Michael’s heart stops racing miles a minute and his cheeks stop heating up like an oven.

 

He sends Gavin a message first on Skype and doesn’t count the hours it takes for Gavin to come back. He instead goes back to Jack’s bar, orders a drink, and tells him about his adventure with some Brit with dumb hyptheticals and asks his own.

 

“Hey, Jack, million dollars but...”

**Author's Note:**

> So I promised myself that I would release this when I only had the last chapter to go. I only have one other chapter written up properly with another half done. Whoops.


End file.
